Amtrak verses

I. Dawn: Waiting Room, Amtrak Station, Route 128

Balance, of a sort: the light, outside and in

the station - one, indifferent, rosy, pale.

A sense of community as travellers, frail

at the glass, gaze out at the world within.

II. View from the train, Providence, R.I.

Along the roadbed, glint of can and bottle,

green and pale blowing of newsprint: Providence.

A chalk white dome looms beyond the fence

that keeps the trash. The light is windwashed, mortal.

III. Seeing an old friend on the train

She plus her baggage only filled one seat.

I took the other. We spoke. Her small brown hands

with large blue veins, rested. . . . She understands

something I don't, and she is more complete.

IV. On arrival

End of the line. All change. I leave on board

schedules, newspapers, detritus of routine,

and take the freeway home, towards the pristine

familiar flux of love, ground of this word.

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